


Freedom's Song

by Ivy_Adair



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Ancient Elven, Ancient Elvhen, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Dragon Age Kink Meme, Dragon Age Spoilers, Dragon Age: Inquisition Spoilers, F/M, Forbidden Love, Prompt Fill, Reincarnation, Sentinels (Dragon Age), Slow Burn, Temple of Mythal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2015-03-18
Packaged: 2018-03-15 23:54:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3466757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ivy_Adair/pseuds/Ivy_Adair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before he cloaked himself in Sorrow, he had another name: Revas, freedom. In the life that had come prior to the mark finding its way on to her palm, she was known as Sulahnni, a song. </p><p>In this life, She was Mythal’shiral vira, one who travels Mythal’s path. Sulahnni was a priestess, sworn and dedicated to the service of the Great Protector. To Revas, one of Mythal’s Sentinels, she was his elu’vhenan, secret heart.</p><p>Rating will change as the story progresses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blood and Ink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the lovely K-Meme prompt:  
> "In her previous life, f!Lavellan was a devout priestess of Mythal and Abelas was the sentinel she fell in love with. Cue forbidden love, secret trysts in the gardens and inevitable heartbreak."  
> Read the prompt [here](http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/11864.html?thread=46428248#t46428248).
> 
> Trigger Warning for: Mentions of blood. Protagonist undergoes his vallaslin ritual, which involves ancient tattooing methods mixed with Elvhen lore.
> 
>   
> ***************  
>  _This work has not been proofread or edited by anyone other than myself. I acknowledge and apologize for any errors still present._  
> 

_**Before he cloaked himself in Sorrow, he had another name: Revas, freedom. In the life that had come prior to the mark finding its way on to her palm, she was known as Sulahnni, a song.** _  
  
The morning light shone through the stretching spires of the Temple of Mythal, casting dark lines on the dirt of the Len'am Sentinel training yard. Revas stood in the brightest patch of light, smiling a little as he felt the warmth of the sun bloom underneath his training armor. The familiar sounds of swords clanging, bows drawing, arrows flying and magic whistling filled his ears; though all at once shrill and harsh, they’re the sounds he has grown up listening and he takes an odd comfort in the familiarity of it all. He waited shoulder to shoulder with his friend and spar partner Adahl as the pair in front of them finished their melee. The two len'am fought viciously; even with their faces covered by their hoods, Revas could see the flash of white on Alana's face as she grit her teeth. All the while Fylion snarled curses and vague threats towards her as their swords collided with enough force to make them both wince. Alana pushed him off of her weapon and whirled around him, her blade singing through the air. He ducked the strike and struck her with the pommel of his sword. She gasped and fell to one knee, but rose again swiftly.  
  
“He’s strong, but she’s quick,” Adahl remarked softly.  
  
“Speed and strength are important, but they do not win battles,” Revas replied. “Alana will win, she desires it more. She puts her heart behind every strike. Fylion only wishes to impress the Elders. He puts his pride into his blows, not his heart.”  
  
Adahl chuckled, “like you, my friend. The only time I see you truly at ease is with a weapon in your hand.”  
  
“We all have a home somewhere, brother.”  
  
The battle shifted four strikes later when Fylion stole a glance towards the Elders observing their spar. Alana saw her moment to strike and took it with a sharp kick to Fylion’s side. He crumpled to his knees and yielded as Alana pressed her blade against his throat. When the Elders accepted his yield, she put her sword down and held out her hand to Fylion. He took it graciously and thumped her on the back as they straightened. They bowed to the Elders together and left the ring smiling, all anger and hurt feelings having disappeared as soon as the match ended. At their Elder’s nod, Revas and Adahl stepped into the ring for their turn. The sand in the ring felt soft underneath his boots. They approached the weapon wrack and as his hands gripped the familiar leather-wrapped hilt of his blade, Revas’s heart beat harder in anticipation of the fight to come. Battle was a thrill, a thing he reveled in; the feeling of raising his sword and crashing it down or nocking an arrow and letting it fly made Revas feel alive. But, it was shameful. A Sentinel only raised his sword for the honor, glory and protection of Mythal and her priestesses. A Sentinel did not seek out conflict in order to let his sword drink the blood of his enemies. Yet, he longed for the days when they held tournaments and len’am fought each other to prove who was the best warrior among them. Revas had won the previous tournament and the thought of it still made his chest ping with happiness.  
  
They bowed to their Elders before bowing to each other. They stood at the ready, swords held up and Revas felt a grin slide on to his face. Adahl smirked, shaking his head. While Revas took pride on his martial skill, Adahl was not by any means, weak or ill matched to him. Where Revas was resilient and had more stamina than some of the Elder Sentinels, Adahl was cunning, fast and disarmed his opponents with smiles and the strength of his limbs. Adahl focused on ending battles quickly, while Revas tried to prolong them and allow his opponent to tire before he bested them. His friend, ever the more impatient, let loose a battle cry and lunged, his blade arcing overhead. Revas sidestepped it easily, twisting and stuck out his leg to trip Adahl. The other elvhen jumped over the limb and rolled forward as he collided into the ground. Adahl’s hood fell back from his face and the sun kissed his dark hair, which was longer than Revas remembered. Amber eyes sparkled with a barking laugh, as Adahl seemed to relish in the feeling of the sun on his skin. Revas took the opportunity to lunge forward, thrusting his blade towards his friend’s shoulder. Adahl parried the strike easily. They traded blows like that, back and forth, for several minutes. Adahl’s strength was beginning to wane and the young elvhen was making careless mistakes. He’d leave himself open a moment too long, allowing for Revas to get a well-timed blow in; he’d hesitate and Revas would be able to dodge. Adahl was grinning at him, though in his fatigue it resembled more of a grimace.  
  
“Enough.” Their heads snapped towards the source of the interruption. It was Elder Paiwen, the master of all len'am in the temple. It was his duty to oversee the training and maturation of every elvhen bound to become Sentinels. The two len'am stopped their slow circling immediately and straightened at the sound of the Elder’s voice breaking their battle focus. They bowed to the Elder and held their gaze to the floor in respect. “You have both done well.”  
  
“Thank you, Hahren,” they answered simultaneously.  
  
“It is time.”  
  
Adahl’s breath hissed through his teeth and Revas felt his mouth go dry. They looked up, twin smiles growing on their faces. Elder Paiwen’s face remained impassive, but Revas was certain he could see a flicker of pride in the older elvhen’s eyes. Their brethren cheered for them and swarmed the two of them, offering their congratulations and their fare-thee-wells. Once len'am had been deemed ready, they were separated and taken deep into the temple for meditation. The following day, the elvhen at the age of maturity would undergo the ritual to receive their vallaslin, which would forever mark them as servants of Mythal. The ritual was done in the outer sanctum of the temple, in the open air and in complete silence before all of the temple’s inhabitants. The elvhen undergoing the ritual had to remain quiet while enduring the pain of the ritual. Revas had seen several rituals performed in his life and could remember the few len who screamed or cried. They were taken back into the world of the len and had to endure the shame of knowing that they’d have to undergo the ritual more than once. When the other len'am finally let them pass, Elder Paiwen took them deeper into the temple than they had ever been before. Len’am, the Sentinels who had not yet proven themselves, were not allowed inside the temple proper. As they passed through the giant stone doors leading into the interior sanctuary, Revas had to bite back a gasp of awe. He could hear Adahl’s breath hitch, as the other elvhen was not as successful at concealing his wonder. Paiwen chuckled under his breath a little.  
  
“Mythal’s sanctum could rival Arlathan for beauty,” the Elder murmured.  
  
Revas had never seen Arlathan. Yet, the splendor before him was beyond his imagining. Huge stone pillars, carved to look like trees, towered over them in neat rows down the length of the chamber. Each column was shining brightly with white and gleaming gold; golden tiles stretched in beautiful swirling patterns beneath their feet and the walls were covered in brightly colored mosaics of Mythal and renditions of her many legends. It was quiet, peaceful inside and Revas found himself hoping he would be placed in a similar chamber once he became a true Sentinel. Paiwen ushered them through the beautiful chamber, across a courtyard, down a set of grand stone steps and finally into a small antechamber. Revas’ eyes darted around, taking in every detail he could. A Sentinel had to study his surroundings, know them in an instant and be prepared to use them to their advantage. The square room was darker than the rest of the temple, but still light enough to see. The walls were washed white and small stone benches sat in the middle of the room. It was a room for meditation, he realized. It was the place they were to have their vigil before the ceremony. Revas found himself unable to stand completely still. He drummed his fingers against his thighs as his felt his heart hammer quickly against his chest. Elder Paiwen waited with them, the man’s calming presence doing little to soothe Revas’s rapidly fraying nerves.  
  
A few moments later, two figures in white robes appeared in the doorway. Priestesses, he realized with a start. Len’am were not permitted contact with priestesses, though he could remember seeing the young initiates every so often as they took constitutionals outside of the inner sanctuary. One looked very young, even younger than Adahl and himself. The priestess accompanying her had a face already marked with a vallaslin. Belatedly, he understood that older priestess was the younger’s hahren.  
  
“Paiwen,” the elder priestess greeted with a respectful dip of her head.  
  
“Myriel,” their Elder answered.  
  
The Elders returned to silence while the young priestess stole looks at the two len'am underneath her lashes. Revas noticed that Adahl was trying not to grin. The novice was pretty enough, Revas supposed; with thick blonde hair curling down to her shoulders, sparkling green eyes and full lips, Revas understood the flush flowing across his friend’s face, even if he did not share the feeling. Another moment later and another figure in white appeared in the chamber door. She was a tall, imposing figure whose white robes were much more elaborate than either of the two women already in the room. Her aged face was marked with the most complicated of Mythal’s vallaslin, with flowing branches of black covering her forehead, under her eyes, sweeping up to her hairline and covering her chin and bottom lip. Only the most devout of Mythal’s followers endured such markings. Even before Paiwen, Myriel and the young priestess began to fall to their knees in reverence, Revas knew this woman was the High Priestess of the temple. Revas grabbed Adahl by the arm and pulled him to his knees. They ducked their heads respectful and only rose when he heard the High Priestess murmur for them to stand. She stepped into the room and gestured behind her. A young woman stepped inside a moment later. Her head was down, causing her long black hair to fall and obscure her face. The High Priestess pressed a slender finger underneath the initiate’s chin. The woman raised her gaze and bright violet eyes stared up at the priestess, adoration clear on her face. Revas stole a glance towards the blonde initiate and saw her glowering towards her onyx-headed counterpart.  
  
“High Priestess,” Elder Myriel murmured.  
  
The eldest woman turned her body slightly, facing all of them. She smiled gently, the vallaslin around her eyes disappeared into the wrinkles of her aged skin. “Andaran atish’an, da’vhen,” she said at last. They all murmured their greetings back to the revered woman. She continued, “you have all been judged to be at the age of maturity and will be able to prove yourselves worthy of receiving your vallaslin. You will spend tonight in this room, meditating and praying to Mythal for her guidance and protection as you leave your childhood behind. Tomorrow, you will endure the ritual and leave behind your youth forever.”  
  
They chorused their understanding to the High Priestess, who turned to the black haired initiate. “Sulahnni, you have chosen your vallaslin?”  
  
She nodded, “yes, Hahren.”  
  
“I am pleased,” the Elder said gently. “Mythal will reward your dedication, ma’len.”  
  
Paiwen wished them luck and departed with the other Elders. As they left, the High Priestess turned and waved her arm through the air. A bright, shining barrier of energy appeared in the doorway, sealing the young elvhen inside. Next to him, Adahl sighed, rubbing his neck. His friend glanced back to Revas, grinned and casually strolled over to the blonde novice. Revas sucked in a breath. They were still len'am, and as such they were forbidden from contact with the young priestesses. He could hear their soft conversation, though he tried not to listen, as he sat down on one of the stone benches. There was a bright and airy laugh from the blonde initiate. He shook his head and looked down at the stone floor, ready to meditate on Mythal. A flash of white out of the corner of his eye causes him to start and raise his head. The black haired woman - Sulahnni, the High Priestess had called her - sat on one of the stone benches, just out of his sight. He studied her, found himself noting the way the white sleeves of her robes ended just above the inside of her elbow and flared out behind in a curtain of gauzy fabric. Her hair contrasted sharply against the pristine cloth, the darkness of her mane brought out the smoothness of her skin. She looked up at him, suddenly, as if she had felt the weight of his gaze. Her lips pursed a little. Her eyebrow rose slowly, not in a challenge but rather, curiosity. Revas swallowed and offered her a small, respectful nod. She blinked, as if his reaction had taken her by surprise. A hand thumping his back caused Revas to jerk suddenly, his gaze ripping away from Sulahnni. He turned to see Adahl and the blonde novice had come to sit on the bench next to his.  
  
Adahl jerked his thumb towards the blonde woman. “This is Nehn.” Revas clenched his jaw, but dipped his head to her all the same. Adahl laughed, “len’am aren’t allowed to talk to the initiates. Revas is a pillar of propriety.”  
  
Nehn laughed again and jerked her head towards Sulahnni; “I know he’s got nothing on her. Sulahnni’s been insufferable all of our lives and its only gotten worse since she’s become the High Priestess’s pet.”  
Revas gaze slid over to Sulahnni, whom he noticed had risen from her spot and was now pointedly seated as far away from them as possible. She had her head down, her eyes closed. Her lips moved every few moments, as if she were murmuring softly. She spoke too softly for him to hear any words, but from the somber expression on her face, he imagined her to be praying. He sat quietly for a moment, listening to Nehn and Adahl exchange inanities before closing his eyes as well. He blocked every influence from his mind that he could, focused on his breathing and on finding peace. Slowly the world around him ebbed away and he was left drifting inside the world of his thoughts. When the darkness of his closed eyes lifted, he found himself standing in the penitent’s courtyard. A breeze shifted over his skin and he realized for the first time in as long as he could remember, he was not wearing his Sentinel armor, nor the heavy woolen robes they wore when they slept. An uncontrollable smile graced his features as he stared down at the bare skin of his arms. He looked down his body and found he was clad in a simple white tunic and black leggings, the sort of raiment a peasant would wear out into the wilds. He felt lighter, freer as he twisted and turned, testing the feel of the clothes against his body. The paleness of his skin in the bright sun surprised him. He reached up and ran a hand over his head; he felt the shortly cropped, silky, white-blonde hair and smiled a little to himself.  
  
“Revas,” a voice called to him, shattering his preoccupation.  
  
He looked around, turning his body until he saw _her_ standing just behind him.  
  
“Mythal,” he whispered reverently. He fell to his knees before her, pressing his forehead against the grass out of respect.  
  
She laughed, “stand, young one and let me look upon you.”  
  
He rose to his feet and watched as she glided towards him. She was tall, taller than him and beautiful beyond imagining. Her grayish white hair shone in the bright sun, he tried not to marvel at the way the thick locks flowed down from her scalp like liquid silver or the long, black eyelashes that brushed against her high cheekbones as she blinked. Her eyes, as green as the forest itself, were kind as she regarded him. She put a delicate finger underneath his chin and raised his face up to hers.  
  
“Hmm,” she murmured, staring deep into his golden eyes. He felt warm and loved underneath her careful gaze. “There is a strength in you, an enduring spirit.”  
  
“Ma serannas, ha Mythal.”  
  
“There is a hard path ahead, da’len. Are you ready to follow it?”  
  
“I am.”  
  
“Good, the elvhen will need your strength in the time to come. I shall look forward to meeting you.”  
  
Revas blinked, “Hahren?”  
  
She smiled warmly, again and whispered, “wake up.”  
  
Revas’ eyes flew open and he looked around the room wildly. Adahl and Nehn had their eyes closed, their bodies leaning against each other. Sulahnni, however, was watching him intently. She opened her mouth to speak, but a crackle in the room interrupted. The barrier disappeared and the High Priestess strode inside. She smiled gently at Sulahnni before rousing Adahl and Nehn from their apparent slumber. Revas had half the notion to ask the High Priestess about his vision of Mythal, but thought the better of it. He replayed the words in his head over and over again as they were led from the small chamber and up into the temple proper. He didn’t look around with the same awe he had previously, as they retraced the route that Paiwen had taken them on only the day before. Even through the heavy stone doors, he could hear the crowd gathered in the courtyard. The High Priestess went out first, with the four of them trailing a respectful distance behind her. He tried not to look over at the dais set up with the tools to create the vallaslin, yet found himself staring anyway and he tried to listen to the High Priestess as she prayed for the four of them and asked Mythal to protect them as they journeyed into maturity but, found his mind drifting back to his vision of Mythal. Once the Priestess finished, she gestured for Adahl to step forward. His friend shot Revas one last smile before he swallowed and sat down on the dais. He bravely held his hand towards the High Priestess while another priestess stepped forward to assist. The High Priestess took Adahl’s hand in hers, raised a shining silver blade, and pressed it against his flesh. The assistant held a gleaming copper bowl underneath his arm as the High Priestess cut him. Blood dripped down into the bowl until a soft green glow emanated from the Priestess’s hand, healing the cut. He murmured a soft word to the Assistant, who bent down to a large chest and selected a bottle of green pigment. The ornate bottle of powder was opened and carefully tipped into the copper bowl. The Assistant swirled the ingredients together until they were combined. Nodding gently the Priestess picked up the ha’mi hima, the long rod carved from the sacred tree deep within Mythal’s sanctum tipped with small blades, and dipped it into the blood ink mixture. She bent over Adahl and thrust the blade gently, but firmly, underneath his skin. The entire courtyard was silent as she worked and Revas found himself biting his lip and worrying that Adahl would make a sound. The young elvhen undergoing the ritual had to do so in complete silence. Even the smallest whimper or utterance could be construed by the Priestess as a weakness, a sign that the youth was not yet fearless enough to pass into the age of maturity. Adahl had chosen the typical vallaslin for Sentinels, the winding branches of Mythal that covered from the bridge of the nose to the forehead in complex, twining veins. It took time, but eventually the Priestess stopped thrusting the small instrument and smiled and Adahl. She wiped away the ink and blood that had spilled across his skin and let him stand. There were cheers from the gathered audience, and Revas found himself smiling brightly at his friend.  
  
Next, Nehn was summoned. The blood and ink process was repeated, with her having selected a red pigment. She had chosen the simplest of designs, two small branches that would stretch from underneath her eyes to just where her ears began. The Priestess thrust the blade forward and Revas could hear the sudden shift in the woman’s breath. His eyes widened a little and he could feel the energy from the spectators alter. With that small moment, all knew that Nehn would not make it through the ceremony and it was simply a question of how long she’d hold out. When the first branch was nearly complete, Nehn let out a soft whimper as a tear fell from one of her eyes. The High Priestess stilled immediately and set down the implement. Nehn sobbed softly, a flush growing across the areas that weren’t stained with blood and red pigment. Myriel walked up the dais and wrapped an arm around Nehn’s shoulders to lead her away. The crowd was silent, solemn as Nehn disappeared back into the temple. She would have to wait longer with the other novices and endure the humiliation of wearing a half-finished vallaslin. There was always the chance as well that the pigment wouldn't mix to the same color and she'd be left with the permanent reminder of her shame.  
  
“Revas,” the High Priestess called.  
  
He swallowed and willed his shaking hands to still as he took his seat on the dais. He had chosen a more complex design, wanting to prove himself not only to Mythal but also to himself. His vallaslin would combine the designs that Nehn and Adahl had chosen and like Adahl, he chose green pigment. He felt the knife cut into his flesh, but pushed his mind away from his body. Faintly he could hear the soft clattering of the blood ink being mixed, the sound of the needles colliding with the side of the bowl and the sudden hush that fell over the crowd. As the first of the needles punctured the flesh of the bridge of his nose, he felt nothing. The sensation of the needles pricking his skin, pushing the blood and ink underneath his skin felt more like light scratches from an animal to his dazed mind. He endured as the blood trickled down his skin and blinked only when it was about to flow into his eyes. A soft cloth wiped the blood away; he had to stop himself for thoughtlessly murmuring a ‘thank you’. Though it wouldn’t have been a cry of pain, he was certain it would have stopped the ritual all the same. He was unaware of time as he felt the scratches stretching up his forehead to underneath his eyes. It wasn’t until the High Priestess placed her hand on his shoulder that he was aware she had finished. He stood, his legs surprisingly steady, and stood next to Adahl. His friend grinned at him, and Revas felt the expression reflecting on to his face as his muscles moved without his consent.  
  
Sulahnni stepped forward without waiting for her name to be called. She thrust her arm out bravely and made no pigment choice as the High Priestess cut her arm. The assistant priestess reached for fullest and most ornate bottle in the chest. The black ink, her vallaslin already chosen and the High Priestess bringing her to the chamber the previous day, the pieces fell into place in his mind: Sulahnni was in training to become the next High Priestess. The bottle of black pigment was tipped delicately into the bowl and a soft murmur fell over the crowd. The energy coming off of them felt like lightning over his healing skin. The onyx-headed woman remained completely still, Revas wasn’t even sure if she breathed, as the Priestess thrust the blade into her skin over and over again, making the intricate designs that were mirrored upon her own flesh. It took shape slowly and Revas noticed that the part saved for last was the single line that bisected her bottom lip, the most painful part he assumed. The Priestess breathed deeply and thrust the blade forward. Still, Sulahnni remained motionless. The crowd cheered again as the Priestess set down the instrument and squeezed her apprentice’s shoulder. Once they cleaned her up, she took her place next to Revas. His mind was still reeling and from the bewildered expression on her face, Revas guessed that Sulahnni was as well. He still wasn’t sure how he had managed to get his leaden legs to move as they were ushered inside the temple to break their fast. In fact, it wasn’t until an hour or so later when he and Adahl were given their Sentinel armor and weapons that he began to come back into himself. Exhaustion hugged him, filling his head with the fuzzy sensation of wool against the insides of his mind. The excitement, adrenaline of the day had finally worn off and left his body drifting aimlessly. They were given their quarters, the two of them sharing the space and were allowed the rest of the day to recover before they were to be given their first duties. Revas settled down onto his bed, barely noticing the room and fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning, long notes ahead:
> 
> This story takes place before the fall of Arlathan and there’s really not a whole lot of information on that time period, obviously as that’s the whole Dalish vs. City elves thing. I’ve done research leading up to and during writing this. I think I’ve read the wiki section of elves like 80 times and the other various sources of canonical and fanonical information out there. So, I’m going to be incorporating canonical information in with my own personal head-canons and some artistic liberties here and there. I figure no matter what I write, Bioware will probably release a DLC that will completely rip everything I’ve envisioned to shreds so I should really just focus on telling this story to the best of my (limited) ability. 
> 
> In regards to the elven language, I’m not a linguist myself. So what I do will most likely be WRONG. I’ll also be taking some liberties with the language. 
> 
> I figure, a lot of the information available is through what I lovingly call ‘The Dalish Filter’. DAI proved, thanks to Solas, that a lot of what the Dalish believe to be true is either exaggerated legends or complete falsehoods. So the language that is known is at a high risk of being faulty anyway - which perhaps canonically explains why Solas’ subtitles aren’t always translated - so I’m going to work it so that it fits into this story. I’ll do the translations at the end of the notes for new words I’ll be using throughout. They are speaking Elvhen/Elvish to each other, but I like throwing some words in for things that I can’t see translating into English/Common, like the ha’mi hima. 
> 
> The vallaslin ritual is a combination of the codex entry on the Dalish practice and ancient tattooing methods. In particular, this method is based on a ritual I got to see in Singapore. The artist has a stick with several needles stuck on the end. The artist stretches the skin with his fingers and shoves the instrument in under the skin and slightly upward. He doesn’t do this from a down angle, either; it’s more of a sideways thing. Very interesting, different from the Maori or Hawaiian styles of tapping bamboo rods straight down into the skin. I figure mixing the blood (as it is called blood writing) with the bearer’s choice of pigment accounts for the colors in the game. Revas’s ‘spacing out’ was based on my own experiences with getting tattoos. 
> 
> Sorry, long notes. I’ll try to keep them to a minimum in the future, but I figured best to explain some things right off the bat. Plus I get super nerdy about these games.
> 
> Translations:
> 
> From the summary:  
> Mythal’shiral vira - Mythal, the goddess. _Shiral_ Journey, _vira_ to go. Little fudged together, but I like it.  
>  Elu'vhenan - _Elu_ has been suggested as 'secret'. _vhenan_ heart, a lover.
> 
> From the Fic:  
> Revas - Freedom  
> Sulahn+ni - Sing or perhaps song.  
> Len’am - _len_ , child. _Am_ , protector (comes from the idea that verbs end in ‘a’ and the noun version drops the ‘a’ so _ama_ , protect and _am_ protector) So it literally means **Child Protector** which is a way of saying that these are Junior Sentinels, not yet having reached maturation.  
>  Adahl - Tree  
> Elvhen - the people, in the temple of mythal quest, Abelas makes the distinction clearly between a disdainful ‘ _elven_ ’ and a normal-sounding _elvhen_ towards Solas.  
>  Da’vhen - _da_ , small. _Vhen_ , people. Children  
> Ma’len - _ma_ , my. _Len_ , child. My child.  
> Nehn - Joy  
> Ha Mythal - from the idea that ha in hahren means old. So Elder Mythal, meant respectfully towards an elder and more supreme being.  
> Ha’mi hima - _ha_ , old. _Mi_ , blade. _Hima_ , to become. So literally **become old blade**. Meaning, the tool used for the young to become adults, as the vallaslin is the rite of passage into adulthood. 
> 
> This work will be cross posted at the original K-Meme Prompt [thread](http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/11864.html?thread=46428248#t46428248) and on my account at [Fanfiction.net](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11085125/1/Freedom-s-Song). You can also find me on [tumblr](http://dear-miss-adair.tumblr.com/). Thanks for reading!


	2. Walking the Wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another strange dream haunts Revas as he settles into life as a Sentinel and he is given the opportunity to prove himself to his elders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read the prompt [here](http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/11864.html?thread=46428248#t46428248).
> 
> Content Warning for: Mild violence. Creepy ancient elven Gods and their weird pets.
> 
>   
> ***************  
>  _This work has not been proofread or edited by anyone other than myself. I acknowledge and apologize for any errors still present._  
> 

“An interesting creature, is he not, Brother?”

“Humph. I see nothing special.”

The light surrounding Revas was so bright that he actually felt pain when it hit his eyes. He let out a little hiss between his teeth as he shielded what little of the offensive light he could with his arm as his eyes slowly adjusted. Blearily, he stole glances of the world around him and became aware of two things: first, he was back in the woods outside the temple and secondly, he was not alone. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear the sleep film from his eyes. His mind stuttered and swam as he tried to put the events of the past few hours to right. The last thing he recalled was being shown to the quarters he would share with Adahl before the last of the adrenaline left his body and he collapsed onto the bed nearest to him. He’d not fallen asleep so much as lost consciousness but he was still quite sure he’d have woken up before venturing outside. The forest felt odd, he realized as he let his free hand caress the soft earth beneath him. It felt as if it were an imitation, a copy made in an expert hand that closely resembled the real thing, but had been unable to capture the true essence. The air was silent, free of the songs of the colorful birds that frequented the highest reaches of the temple. Revas groaned as he sat up and ran his fingers over his face, feeling for the area the vallaslin had been put on to his skin. When pads of his fingers hit smooth skin, he recoiled as if he’d been burned. Even with High Priestess’s healing magic, there was no way it could have left completely smooth skin overnight. The vallaslin was either gone, or completely healed and Revas wasn’t entirely sure which was worse. Movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. He turned, suddenly remembering that he was not alone. Four elvhen stood in a tight cluster to his left. 

No, he blinked the last of the sleep film from his eyes; it was two elvhen and two smaller creatures that looked almost avian in their appearance. They were identical with long, sharp features and large ovular eyes the color of the midnight sky. Their hair was dark, long and scraggly, slicked back from their faces and showcasing two impressive widow’s peaks. As Revas’s eyes hit theirs, he shuddered unconsciously and ripped his gaze away. What ever they were, Revas knew he’d never seen anything like them.

“He can see us, Brother. How _extraordinary_.”

The two elvhen eyed Revas, one with unabashed curiosity and the other with an expression of mild contempt. The two of them were not as identical as the dark creatures standing just behind them, but they bore enough of a resemblance that Revas had to assume they were, in fact, brothers. Their heights matched perfectly and they both had the same silvery hair, though one wore his long and flowing and the other had a tight braid resting against his shoulder. They stared at him with eyes as blue as vallaslin pigment. It was unnatural and unnerving.

“Who are you?” Revas asked, his eyes darting between the two strangers.

“It would appear Mother has chosen well,” the braided elvhen remarked, ignoring Revas. 

“And what of Father’s choice?” the other asked.

“Hmm, we’ll have to see. It matters little, though. Father always was terrible at following the rules.”

“What choice?” Revas demanded, attempting to interrupt their conversation. 

“I don’t like him.”

“I find him _fascinating_.” The braided one took a step towards Revas and reached out as if to brush his fingers against Revas’s skin. 

“Until you learn all of his secrets, then you’ll cast him aside like the others.”

“Oh, Brother, still so bitter?” the braided elvhen asked with a smile sliding across his lips. 

“Mother overstepped her bounds,” the other growled. 

The creatures behind the braided elvhen hissed, their identical faces growing dark as their hands rose into claws. Dark veins branched out along their translucent skin and as their mouths opened up in a snarl, Revas could see their teeth were numerous, tiny and jagged. Their master ran his hands over their shoulders soothingly. The creatures stilled, cooing softly as their clawed hands slowly lowered to their sides. Revas felt himself grimace and he dared not to risk staring too closely at the horrid things. He kept his eyes glued to the space between the two elvhen, grateful that his peripheral vision afforded him a good look at the both of them while still limiting his view of the creatures. 

“Shh, you’re scaring the pets, Brother,” the braided elvhen, murmured.

“Void take your foul _pets_.”

The aforementioned pets hissed half-heartedly as their master’s fingers swept over their long hair. “Aww, cheer up, Brother. Soon, very soon, we will have great entertainment.”

The long haired elvhen crossed his arms over his chest and harrumphed. 

The other elvhen laughed loudly, the sound tore apart the tranquility of the forest. “Oh, but don’t you see, Brother? Once Mother and Father have their fun, we’ll be able to pick up the scraps.”

“You speak too much in the presence of a lesser.”

“ _Who are you_?” Revas demanded as he clenched his fists at his sides. When their preternaturally blue gaze fell upon him, he could swear that he actually felt the weight of it upon his shoulders. He opened and closed his mouth several times as he struggled to think of something else, anything else to say. Instead, he watched as the braided elvhen nodded and flipped his silvery braid behind his shoulder. Together, the two of them turned in perfect unison towards Revas and said: 

“Wake up.”

* * *

Revas’s eyes snapped open and he bolted upright. He wasn’t in the forest. In fact, he was in the same spot he’d crashed the previous afternoon after his vallaslin ritual. His fingers snapped upwards and groped for the area where his flesh had been inked. His fingertips brushed against scabbed skin and he felt a soft sigh escape his lips. The forest, the twins and those creatures had all been a dream. He was not the sort of man to take stock into dreams, he figured that sort of thing was best left to those smarter and more introspective than he. The appearance of the twins weighed heavily on his mind.

“You’re awake, lethallin.” 

Adahl’s voice sounded from behind him, shattering through the endless cacophony of his thoughts. Revas tried to crane his neck to see Adahl, but gave up as his body began to protest the movement. 

“Ir abelas,” Revas breathed as he sat up, groaning a little from the stiffness of sleeping in one position for…. “How long have I slept?”

Though Revas could not see his friend’s face, he could hear the smirk in Adahl’s voice: “all afternoon, evening and night. Don’t worry, I would have woken you before we are to go to the Ha’am.”

“Serannas,” Revas said wryly as he rolled off of the raised bed. He reached up and rubbed the back of his neck, fingers brushing against the longer hair at the nape of his neck. Turning over his shoulder, he saw Adahl standing by a small window, staring out into the trees outside the room. “How do you feel?”

Adahl glanced in his direction and offered him a half smile. “I endure, as always,” he quipped. His expression turned stormy as he looked away. “Nehn haunts my mind.”

The unbidden image of the pretty blonde-headed priestess flashed in his mind. The sound of her soft breath echoed in his ears; he wondered about her, what had become of the confident initiate. Though Revas had witnessed a few failed vallaslin rituals in his youth, they were still rare enough to cause a stir amongst the temple denizens. “Perhaps now that we are able to go inside the temple we’ll see her among the other novice priestesses.”

His friend nodded softly, the corners of his mouth still turned down. It was odd to see the usually bright Adahl looking so downtrodden. Revas turned away and swiftly unbuckled his old len’am armor. He piled it neatly, gently on top of his bed and picked up his Sentinel gear. He ran his fingers over the beautiful, coppery plate and smiled. It took him little time to get dressed, especially when Adahl withdrew from the window and helped latch the buckles that were particularly troublesome to reach. Wordlessly, the two elvhen switched positions and Revas deftly helped to fasten the still-loose buckles on Adahl’s new armor. When they finished, Revas watched as Adahl slunk back toward the window.

“And how do you fare?” his friend asked, without turning around.

Revas stilled and took a silent inventory of himself. The scabbed skin felt dry and itchy, despite the High Priestess’s use healing magic. His body felt stiff and sore from sleeping in the one position for so many hours, but physically he truly felt no changes. Revas was a Sentinel now and an elvhen past the age of maturation. It was foolish, he supposed, to imagine that receiving his vallaslin would change him so drastically. Yet, as a child he’d always imagined that reaching this stage of his life would somehow unlock the answer to every question he’d ever have drift through his mind.

“Honestly, I feel the same as always.” Revas ran his fingertips over the lightly scabbing markings, letting his magic soothe the discomfort away. His mind shifted as his thoughts turned back to his odd dreams. “You were asleep when they came for the ritual.”

Adahl looked over his shoulder at Revas. “Is that a statement or a question?”

“An observation.”

“You were asleep almost immediately. Nehn and I were up for quite a while. We fell asleep at some point, I suppose.”

Revas nodded thoughtfully. “When you slept, did you dream?”

His friend’s expression shifted, where yesterday, the jovial glint in Adahl’s eyes had been was suddenly replaced with something darker, feral-like. The elvhen’s brow furrowed deeply, the newly scabbed flesh of his forehead pulled his skin taught in odd places. “Aye. The All-Father spoke to me.”

Revas couldn’t pull back on the gasp that burst out from between his lips. “Elgar’nan? What did he say?”

Adahl looked away swiftly. “Nothing of import. Why, did you dream?”

“Yes,” Revas answered quickly. He was about to mention his conversation with Mythal when the realization of the twins’ identity hit him. In less than the spans of a day, he’d dreamt of not only Mythal, but also of Dirthamen and Falon’din. His mind flashed back to the twins mentioning their father’s choice and something deep within Revas’ heart told him to keep his dreams secret. He looked away from Adahl, just as his friend had done to him. “I dreamt of my mother. Why do you think you dreamt of Elgar’nan?”

“It matters not. Only a foolish dream,” Adahl answered as he pulled his hood up and over his dark head. “Come, lethallin, we should leave. It wouldn’t due to be late on our first day.”

The finality of Adahl’s dismissal sat poorly in Revas’ mind. Not even the most foolhardy of elvhen could mistake the wretchedness encasing his friend’s heart. 

* * *

With their gleaming Sentinel armor in perfect condition, Adahl and Revas rushed out of their quarters and out towards the Sentinel’s practice yard. Unlike the area for the younger len’am, the initiated Sentinels practiced and trained within the walls of the temple, closer to their charges while still maintaining the respectful distance custom dictated. It was a Sentinel’s duty to watch and protect, but never interfere with the daily activities within the temple’s walls. The Sentinels were silent guards, to be seen rarely and heard even less. 

Now that he wasn’t under the effects of adrenaline, Revas was finally able to get a better look at the inside of the temple as he and Adahl raced to the practice yard. The sheer enormity of the temple overwhelmed him. He’d always known that it was large, as it had to be to accommodate the priestesses, the Sentinels, the visiting penitents and the occasional guest of state within its walls. Yet, as he struggled to keep up with Adahl it seemed as if everywhere he looked was a different hallway, a new branching path waiting to be explored. It was also even grander than he had imagined, and the Sentinels lived in modest conditions compared to the priestesses or the guest quarters. There were huge white columns capped with golden filigree and ogee arches looming overhead, tall enough to accommodate the giants themselves. They passed through an open-air courtyard, with patterned cobblestones in a swirling design and beautiful blooming trees bent over stonework benches that sat empty and in less-than-perfect repair. It stood as a testament to the dedication of his brothers and sisters, Revas decided, that even though such beauty surrounded them, they took their duties too seriously to spend the time in leisure. 

The practice yard was silent as they entered it. Their initiated brethren already stood lined up in two rows and ready as Adahl and Revas fumbled their way through to their positions across from each other. The Ha'am stood at the front of the line, an ancient elvhen by the name of Marcel. He stared at the two of them from over his long, hooked nose with eyes that were narrowed with disdain. After a moment he cleared his throat and walked down the line with silent, graceful steps. When he neared the two of them, Revas instinctively stood straighter and held his head just a little higher. The ancient elvhen came to a stop in front of Revas and turned on his heel to stare deep into the young Sentinel’s eyes. Revas bit the inside of his cheek to keep his face as neutral and steady as possible, though all the while his heart beat a frantic staccato in his chest. 

“You,” the Ha'am creaked out. “Name?”

“Revas, Hahren.”

“Revas,” the elder repeated. “An ironic name for one with the vallaslin. A wish from your mother, perhaps?”

“I do not know, I never knew her.”

“Tell me, Revas, do you wish for freedom? Will you walk the path alone and unaided?”

“I did not choose my name, Hahren. It has no significance to me.” The elder opened his mouth to retort, but Revas continued, effectively interrupting him, “I am precisely where I wish to be, Hahren.”

He met Marcel’s eyes head on, after a moment the elder man seemed satisfied, and he turned to repeat the process to Adahl. 

“Name?” Marcel asked.

“Adahl.”

“You are…troubled. What lies so heavily in your heart, da’len?”

He could almost _hear_ the flush in Adahl’s cheeks as his friend stumbled for an answer. “I-I,” he stammered before the young elvhen finally cleared his throat. “There is nothing weighing on me that will interfere with my duties, Hahren.”

Revas watched the back of Marcel for some sign of thought or feeling. There was none, but as a small ripple echoed throughout the lines of Sentinels, Revas had the feeling that Adahl had done something worth noting. Marcel’s shoulders twitch before he murmurs, “as you wish, da’len.” He turned so that his body was facing both of them before he continued, “you’ll both walk the wall. The rest of you, to your duties.”

Walking the wall was an occupation Revas had heard tale of while he was still a len’am. The Sentinels tasked with it were to patrol along the outermost walls of the temple, keeping their eyes glued to the surrounding forests for any sign of danger. It was typically an introductory duty for young Sentinels, though it was much bemoaned for the sheer boredom associated with it. The last time the temple had been under any danger had been hundreds of annaren before Revas had even been born. Revas sighed in spite of himself; he’d hoped for a task more exciting, despite the uselessness of such wishes. A quick glance to Adahl and Revas saw his friend still standing defiant, shoulders held back and his hooded face uncharacteristically glowering into the open air. Worry gripped Revas’s heart with icy hands. He’d known Adahl for the whole of his life and been his spar-partner since they had been old enough to heft swords. Out of all the other len’am, Revas had always considered Adahl his true brother and friend. Though their personalities had clashed often, with his quiet reserve rarely able to find true enjoyment in Adahl’s cheeky humor, Revas had never truly wished for his friend to change so dramatically. In fact, there had occasionally been a certain comfort found within Adahl’s steadfast joviality. A heavy hand on his shoulder pulled Revas’s mind out of the spiraling void of his melancholic thoughts. He turned and found himself staring into the faces of four Sentinels. 

“You’re to walk the wall with us, lethallin?”

He nodded, stealing a glance towards Adahl who’d dropped his sneer and was watching the exchange with passive interest. 

“Good. I am Samahl, I will take you to your post.”

* * *

It took three vunen of walking the wall before Adahl’s mood returned to a shadow of its former self. The first time Revas heard his old friend crack a quick joke; he’d been too shocked to offer an encouraging laugh. When pressed for an explanation, Adahl only shrugged and changed the subject. After that, it was half an annar before Alana had her vallaslin ritual. With the branches of the Tree of Mythal etched on to her face with dark blue ink, she proudly joined the ranks of the Sentinels and took her place on the wall. They became a tightly knit group over time, working together in a single cohesive form. Time marched around them and each day passed with no threat approaching Mythal’s sacred walls. 

Eventually, as len’am received their vallaslin and the elder Sentinels were reassigned, Revas and Adahl found themselves the senior-most Sentinels tasked with watching the forests. Adahl had come back into himself more and more as time had passed. Yet, every so often, he’d awake in a foul melancholy and remain lingering in a state of perpetual depression for several days before it’d eventually pass. When he was in such a way, Revas had learned to give his old friend a wide birth. He’d once taken a fist to his face when he asked why his friend’s mood would shift so rapidly. Another time and he’d simply received a quick mumble about an unpleasant dream. As for Revas’s own dreams after his visit from the twin elvhen, his nights had been uninterrupted. In time, he stopped thinking about the dreams entirely and simply chalked them up to the nerves about his vallaslin ritual. Four years came and went peacefully; life within the temple walls was uneventful.

Until one day, it wasn’t.

It was mid-morning when Revas was called down from the wall. Marcel eyed him carefully, ancient eyes sweeping over his form to check for anything out of place. Revas met the Ha’am’s gaze evenly and when the elder elvhen finally nodded, Revas felt himself relax ever so slightly. 

“Good,” Marcel’s creaking voice said. “You’ll be in the judgment chamber today.”

Revas blinked, “Hahren?”

“Have you ever been to Arlathan, da’len?”

“No, Hahren. I was brought here as a babe in arms.”

“Ah, yes. Ripped from your mother’s breast and sold into servitude, no doubt,” the elder murmured. Revas shifted uncomfortably, adjusting his bodyweight to his left side, trying not to imagine the phantom figure of a mother screaming for him. Marcel, oblivious to Revas’s discomfort, continued, “an important figure from Arlathan, a noble, has submitted himself to Mythal’s judgment.”

“This is momentous?”

“Aye, da’len. The powerful in Arlathan will mark their servants and slaves with the vallaslin, but only in an effort to curry favor. For someone of such stature to prostrate themselves before Mythal, its hardly something I ever expected to see.”

“I thought that the Elvhen sought the judgment of Mythal often.”

“Aye, the people do. The powerful, the nobles do not. They war amongst themselves for whatever scraps they can take. This, da’len, is quite out of the ordinary. The High Priestess shall be overseeing the judgment personally and wants as many Sentinels in attendance as can be spared.”

“Will Adahl be joining as well?”

“No. Adahl is not ready for such an opportunity.”

Revas opened his mouth to ask yet another question, but was immediately shushed and ushered through the temple towards the main judgment chamber. He was taken to a side alcove, a bow and quiver pushed into his hands and shoved through a doorway and out through an opening into the chamber. The room was massive, richly splendid with its white marble and golden walls. He stood atop a tall platform, erecting so high that even the tallest elvhen standing on the floor below would have to crane their necks to look upon anyone who stood on its surface. He was flanked on either side by statues depicting Mythal and behind him a large cloverleaf archway. The floor below him was tiled, with differing shades of gold arranged in an artful pattern. On either side of the floor below were smaller daises for spectators. Fires burned in small pyres below and overhead the richly enameled ceiling was interspersed with large open areas for the sunlight to stream in. Revas could see immediately the ease in which anyone in this chamber would find themselves submitting to Mythal. He couldn’t find the words within his own mind to express the sheer power felt within this chamber’s walls. Marcel took Revas by the shoulders and guided him back to the wall, out of sight in the shadows. 

“Your job, da’len, shall be to watch for danger. Do not worry, though, there is no one foolish enough to attack the High Priestess herself. Stay out of sight and if there is danger, it is your duty to escort the High Priestess out of the chamber. Are we clear?”

“Yes, Hahren.”

“Good. Your brothers and sisters have already taken their places, this is your opportunity to get off the wall. Do not disappoint.”

“Yes, Hahren,” Revas repeated. 

When Marcel left him alone, Revas took the opportunity to cast one more glance about the chamber. This time, however, his gaze stuck to the shadows. Through the haze of pyre smoke and the dust mites swirling through the air, he could see the telltale glimmer of shining bronze armor indicating where his brethren stood their silent guard. He felt no eyes upon him, as it was not a Sentinel’s duty to watch their brothers. So, he turned his golden eyes towards the temple floor and waited. It wasn’t long before the lower doors opened and people began to stream in. He noted that the priestesses in their flowing white robes stood in a tight cluster, away from the penitents. After a moment, the steady stream of people halted and the groups made their way off of the patterned tile floor in the middle and up on to the respective daises. There was a sudden hushed murmur that passed through the crowd of people as several darkly clad elvhen strode in, flanking an elder. The elder was sharply dressed, in clothes finer than Revas had ever seen. With rich purple silk draped over his shoulders and a splendid white fur collar around his neck, Revas knew he could be no one other than the noble prepared to submit himself. He was escorted to stand in front of the platform and went out of Revas’ line of sight underneath the lip of the raised edge. The young Sentinel silently stepped through the darkness until he could see the entire room and watched as the noble eased himself to a kneeling position on the floor. Following him, another elvhen strode through the door. He was surrounded with more guards, but was in less finery. Though he was far away, Revas could see the malice plainly etched on the second man’s face as he took a kneeling position next to the first man. 

The sound of a staff colliding with stone echoed through the still chamber. Revas craned his neck towards the archway to see. There was nothing but silence as a figure appeared in the darkness of the opening. The High Priestess strode silently, dancer-like to the edge of the platform. The elder elvhen’s face was neutral, and staring at the crowds below over her nose. A small movement behind her drew Revas’ attention. He felt the corners of his lips twitch as he saw the familiar ebon-haired priestess arranging the flowing train of the High Priestess’s robes. Four annaren was hardly a blink in their lives, but still he stared at her and tried to discern if there were any small changes to the woman before him. Sulahnni moved as lithely as any len’am as she deftly adjusted the High Priestess’s large headdress. She disappeared for a moment before reappearing in an instant at the elder’s side, head bowed and holding up a jeweled scepter. The High Priestess took it and tapped the end of it against the tiled floor. Sulahnni stepped to the side, hands clasped before her and head held proudly high. 

“When the all-father defeated his father, the sun, his pride wrought darkness upon the world. It was only when Mythal, the all-mother and protector of all, arose from the sea and delivered her wisdom unto Elgar’nan that the world once again saw light. Through Mythal’s judgment, all who are worthy may seek justice and true redemption,” the High Priestess said, her voice booming and echoing off of the white marble. Her gaze shifted downward to the nobles before her. “You, Arlas, are here to seek the judgment of Mythal?”

The purple-clad noble, Arlas, rose from his knee. “I am, Priestess.”

“And will you abide by her wisdom?”

“I shall, Priestess.”

“Very well, I shall hear the offense committed.”

The second noble rose to his feet. “Priestess, this _alas’lin_ has defiled my house and sullied my good name.”

“A grave accusation; how was this offense committed?”

Movement pulled Revas’s focus away from the proceedings. His golden gaze snapped towards the motion and he saw three elvhen standing amongst the penitents slowly moving forward through the crowd. He shifted, moving closer to the platform as the elvhen reached the head of the grouping. It was then he noticed the second noble shifting on his feet, his hands playing with the seam of his green velvet coat. A quick glance towards his guards whose hands were slowly disappearing to unseen pockets within their garments was all Revas needed before he felt that familiar blaze of pleasure wash over him. In an instant, his hands grasped for his quiver, nocked an arrow and held his bowstring taut as he leapt out of the shadows and stood at the lip of the platform. 

“For Daern'thal!” the attackers cried in unison as they brandished their weapons.

Revas loosed his first arrow as their battle cry left their lips. The arrow whistled through the air and struck one of the nobleman’s guards in the chest. Operating solely on instinct and muscle memory, Revas reached behind him and pulled another arrow from his quiver, nocked and loosed it. He moved as he pulled the bowstring back and released it again, another arrow whistling through the air as he made his way towards the High Priestess and Sulahnni. The other Sentinels had sprung into action and he could hear the sounds of battle filling the chamber around them. Revas watched out of the corner of his eye as the noble in the green coat pulled a dagger from his pocket and threw it at the High Priestess. The elder woman stood frozen, fear etched plainly on her lined face. Revas dropped his bow and grabbed the elder around the middle, hauling her to the ground. From behind him, Revas felt a sudden tingle in the air and he whirled around just in time to see the dagger bounce harmlessly off of a blue-tinged barrier. Sulahnni stood at the edge of the platform, her arm outstretched and pretty face screwed up in determination. His eyes widened as she picked up his dropped bow and nocked his discarded arrow. She loosed it and the resulting cry below them told him her aim had been true. She turned back to him and tossed him the bow. He caught it deftly and stared at her as she knelt next to the High Priestess. The sounds of battle below the platform echoed around them and Revas longed to leap into the fray, but he knew his duty. He slung the bow around his shoulder before taking a knee on the side of the High Priestess and helped Sulahnni haul the woman to her feet. At the elder’s soft groan of pain, guilt pooled in his belly. With one arm each slung around the youth’s shoulders, they helped the Priestess hobble out of the chamber and into safety. The sounds of battle faded and the soft sounds of throat-cutters doing their duty filled his ears. They paused in front of a large mosaic of Mythal and Revas watched as Sulahnni reached up and pushed one of the tiles in. Her movements were too quick for him to make a note of which tile she had pressed. There was a clank behind the mosaic and slowly the stone wall to their right shifted and eased open. Sulahnni gestured with her head for them to go through the opening. As they did, Revas realized they were standing within the walls themselves, in a network of secret passageways that had to run the gamut of the temple. He couldn’t help the sharp intake of air that reverberated around them. The two women said nothing, but through the meager torchlight, Revas was certain he saw Sulahnni smirk. 

“Daern’thal,” the elder woman muttered bitterly as the trio clambered through the darkened corridor.

Sulahnni remained silent and Revas, being unsure if he was permitted to speak, said nothing. 

After traveling through the corridor for what felt like miles, they came to a stop in front of a lever. Sulahnni pulled it and natural light spilled into the passageway. Shocked gasps and worried cries greeted them as they stepped back into the temple. Revas stole a glance around and he realized suddenly, that he was standing within the priestess’s living quarters, a place that Sentinels were not permitted to be. Eight women stood in front of them, but paid him no mind as their focus was fixed entirely on the elder woman in the middle of their trio. They surged forward in a blur of white and pulled the High Priestess away. He stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, unsure of what he should do. A soft whisper of fabric shifting pulled his focus and he found himself staring at Sulahnni. Her hands were clasped delicately in front of her and she held herself with a spine as straight as one the white column she stood beside. Her violet gaze bore into him, her face unreadable. Slowly the woman dipped her head to him. 

“Thank you, Sentinel,” she murmured. 

“Revas,” he corrected without thinking. 

She blinked and seemed to consider him for a moment before she answered, “Sulahnni.”

“I know. Good day, Priestess.” He bowed slightly at the waist and turned to leave, but not before he caught the way her eyes widened in surprise at his admission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Ir abelas - Basically, I’m sorry.  
> Ha’am - _ha_ , elder. Am protector. Elder Protector. The Sentinel that Revas/Abelas and Adahl report to.  
> Serannas - An informal thank you. ‘Thanks’.  
> Vun+en - _Vunin_ , day. _En_ , suffix indicating plural.  
> Annar - Year (Annaren, years)  
> Alas’lin - _alas_ , dirt. _Lin_ , blood. Dirty blood.  
> Samahl - laughter
> 
> So I use Scrivener to write and its usually a really great program if you don’t mind plunking some money down and learning how to use it. However, I forgot that it has an auto-correct feature. Which, when I’m writing things that don’t involve con-languages is perfectly fine. However, when you write ‘elvhen’ and it automatically corrects it to ‘eleven’ the feature quickly becomes a nuisance. So, I apologize for all of the errors present in the last update. I corrected as many as I could find and turned off auto-correct. Ugh. Talk about embarrassing. It doesn’t help that I type fast anyway, so I’m prone to typos and I stare at these words for so long I can’t even see the mistakes half the time until after I let it sit a few days post-publishing. Blegh. I am booked pretty solidly with my work, but I will definitely endeavor to make the wait a lot less for chapter 3. 
> 
> This work will be cross posted at the original K-Meme Prompt [thread](http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/11864.html?thread=46428248#t46428248) and on my account at [Fanfiction.net](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11085125/1/Freedom-s-Song). Come say Hi to me on [tumblr](http://dear-miss-adair.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading!


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